Sometimes You Just Need a Good Cry

Perhaps it's the doctor visits and their caution in monitoring me.  Perhaps it's the pregnancy hormones.  Perhaps it's the fact that I'm almost at my third trimester and the fears and anxiety raised by our previous miscarriage are resurfacing again.  Perhaps it's the horrible dream I had last night.  Or maybe it's just a mix of it all, but today I woke up feeling incredibly anxious and slightly panicked.  I know nothing has changed since seeing her move on the screen yesterday, but she's having a mellow day in there and I miss feeling her thump against my side and feeling her kick from the outside.  This morning it's only been a few flutters here and there and a bout of hiccups for a short while.  I know it's completely normal and that "kick counts" don't really start until the 28th week when the baby's movements are more predictable and consistent.  But sometimes I get nervous and my rational side gets taken over by my human feelings of weakness and helplessness.

Like I've said before, being pregnant is so humbling.  It really makes you face your lack of control in the bigger scheme of things.  And people who know me know I love control.  I thrive on being in the driver's seat.  So it's been a tough lesson to learn--to just really give it up and trust that God's plans are more divine and purposeful than our own.  I was reading some pregnancy boards earlier to find comfort in our baby's "slow day" and came across a post about a woman losing her baby at 25 weeks.  I broke down.  I just sat in front of the computer and cried.  I don't know this woman, but I can only imagine what she's going through.  I feel like Adam and I handled the loss of our first baby really well.  We had amazing support and we've come to a place where we can talk about it and share our experience.  But the emotion of losing something you love so much continues to haunt you.  It never really leaves.  Anyone who has lost a loved one can attest to that.

I guess this morning is a slow day for all of us.  The pugs are snuggled up on their bed, fast asleep (and it's only a little past 9 o'clock).  The baby is hanging out, taking it easy apparently, much to my worry and anxiety (which I'm well aware never really goes away, even after she is born).  And I'm just going to let myself mope a little, continue to mourn a little.  Mourn for our first baby, up in heaven with her grandpa and Frankie (our first pug baby), mourn for the woman's loss of her premature baby, and mourn for the loss of all little lives leaving us too soon.  I'm chalking it up to just one of those days where tea and prayer are on the agenda, along with finding beauty and comfort in the faith God gives us.